


The soldier and the snow.

by Neuro_writer



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 13:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6425179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuro_writer/pseuds/Neuro_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man who inhabits the shell of the soldier, takes comfort in something pure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The soldier and the snow.

Snow, familiar yet alien. It fell in eddies and swirls, flakes dancing in the street light outside the window. It was the early hours, the snow adding to the silence of the city. He remembered snow, the cold, or was it the cold of snow he remembered, he couldn’t tell anymore. There had been cold when he fell, he knew that. They had found him in the bottom of the snow filled ravine, left arm torn and bloody. A stain on the pristine landscape. The way he had become a stain on the pages of history books, in blood but not by name. The secret assassin, the fist of hydra; changing the world to suit the views of this power or that.

Then there had been the cold of the cyro-chamber. He didn’t remember that so well. Just the feeling of numbness as the cold air overtook his sensory system. The cold meant wiping of memories and sleep. If it could be called sleep. It was just a lack of motion. A lack of purpose. What was his purpose now, he wondered. He had no mission. The target had come to be a friend. The soldier knew only how to follow orders. He didn’t know how to occupy himself. Time without a purpose was time spent out of service. He had already looked; there was no cold storage facility within this small apartment, or elsewhere in the building. 

The snow, it hadn’t bothered him as he stood in wait on the mountainside. The mission, to eliminate a target. Any additional casualties were not to be worried about. The car would come. All he had to do was take the shot and wipe another person from the history books. It was brutal, like the contrast of rocks against the white. His mind was all about the contrasts now. The differences in being someone other than the soldier. The contrasts between who he was and who he is. Fragmented thoughts, returning memories. He wished he could wipe them clean. He wished to belike the snow, but he knew, come morning the city would spring into life and the snow would be moved aside to reveal the true world underneath,

The target, no the man in red and blue. Steve, that was his name. A previous manifestation of himself would have known this man. The broken mind recovering and piecing a life back together, well he knew him but couldn’t place why. Assurances of friendship meant nothing to him. He had been told people were his friends before, friends who turned him into an experiment, who messed with his head. He knew this man, this Steve meant well, but he couldn’t trust him. Not yet anyway. Not whilst he determined who he was.

Walking silently as a ghost, he smiled at that, he had once been known as a ghost. Now he was alive once more; a shell of a man with the memories of more than one, but the identity of none. The man, no the mission, incorrect, Steve, was sleeping soundly. He wouldn’t wake. Opening the front door the man trying to piece himself together stepped out into the snow. Perhaps he wouldn’t be pure. But in this moment he could admire the stillness, a blissful quiet from the conflicting thoughts in his head. He could be at peace and for the first time, he could have a memory of the cold to call his own. The memory of beginning to heal.


End file.
